


just let me go, we'll meet again soon.

by despairingdignities



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11597850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despairingdignities/pseuds/despairingdignities
Summary: For the first time in seventy years the Vault is, apparently, permanently empty - but the Doctor wishes it wasn't in these circumstances.





	just let me go, we'll meet again soon.

_you're gone, gone, gone away_

_i wish you'd disappear;_

_all that's left is the ghost of you._

_now we're torn, torn, torn apart_

_there's nothing we can do;_

_"just let me go, we'll meet again soon."_

 

The torture of resented regeneration energy coursing through her veins, exploding from her past self in an unrestricted ball of heat and flame, had been too real for her hopes to stay alive. In fact, seeing that she was a  _ woman  _ still despite having tried to “wake herself up” from the real-life nightmare before her eyes, she had already disproved it. However, the Doctor was a stubborn woman even now, although she was not the obstinate old man she had been, it seemed, mere days before. The dream had to be held with high hopes, and brutally snuffed out by a violent breath of air or a pinch of the fingers, like a candle that was just barely alive.

“Please,” the blonde woman whispered, wandering the winding labyrinth of the university halls. They were empty, which was mostly good luck. She didn’t look like their professor anymore, anyway, and people would ask questions. The lateness of the hour as dusk fell outside probably had something to do with that. “ _ Please. _ ”

Honestly, she doesn’t know who she's talking to except to the air hanging heavy above her head and on her shoulders, as she descends stair after stair. The sound of shoe meeting stair is loud, deafening, and the effort of it sends vibrations shuddering through her with each step. She knows what she is going to see, in her hearts she does, and it’s going to shatter them both to fucking  _ pieces  _ and then she's going to have to pick them up because she's the  _ Doctor,  _ she doesn’t get the luxury of being broken like regular people do. She has to be whole because people need her, the universe is always crying for help somewhere.

The doors rush up to her face all of a sudden as she loses count of the number of steps she's taken and she's there. Hearts pounding in unnecessary anticipation. They open and she saw exactly what she expected. The Vault is still bright, because of course the windows were artificial, but it doesn’t fit. The Doctor turns the lights off and lets the place descend into darkness.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing at all. The bedclothes are neatly folded and Missy’s pajamas are resting on her pillow expectantly. The book sits next to the spent cup of coffee, under which there is unquestionably the ring-shaped stain. For the first time in seventy years the Vault is, apparently, permanently empty - but the Doctor wishes it wasn't in these circumstances.

It was supposed to be empty because they were seeing the stars.

Part of her, a small delusional part of her, had hoped this whole thing was a nightmare, that Missy would be in here and stand up promptly from wherever she was and grin, with a “ _ Doctor! _ ” not unlike the one she had spoken when she was about to die.

But there is nothing except the ghost of her in the way things were arranged, in the memories they had made here, and the Doctor knew she would never want to move, or remove, any one of them.

“I loved you,” the blonde confesses as she goes to sit on the end of the bed, not quite having the resolve to leave forever. “I did. Did you know?” 

The piano is there, still open, still with music sheets still stacked against it and with the stool still adjusted to make up for what her best friend lacked in height. Heels can’t make up for height when you’re sitting down. 

The world is blurring around her like a Matisse painting, colours blurring and blending, nothing quite what it was before. Tears and sadness making the world shake and quiver until they pattered and smashed on her clothes or on the ground. This place is not meant to be empty. It is meant to be for her. Guaranteeing her a place to be should she have died that day. It is meant to have her smile and her laugh and her bizarre wardrobe.

Green eyes flicked over to the TARDIS, where it was hidden, and paused.


End file.
